Blood to Alcohol
by earth-seraph
Summary: When you're a police officer, you're sworn to protect those in need. For Dean, this is a huge rule he lives by daily when he goes out onto patrol. It's just when things get truly hectic that he realizes just how devout he is when he decides to take Castiel Novak off grid himself.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note: Hello, I'm back with a new fic! This fic is a collaboration between: Cloudsarefluffy, and I. She can be found here: On AO3: /users/cloudsarefluffy**

** : u/4143590/cloudsarefluffy**

**I've had a blast working with her! It's the best experience I could ask for! That being said, GO GIVE HER HITS, KUDOS, FOLLOWS, COMMENTS, ETC. **

**Have a nice time reading!**

Dean Winchester's not sure when his job started or ended- it's like an endless blur of days mixing into together and forming a blob in his skull, something he's sure will bite him in the ass later when it counts. It's like the badge he carries no longer has that flare he always saw when he first put it on, that special shine it had dimming when the light hit it. It was like that the five or six years he's been on the job has worn away it's special meaning.

His suit is folded neatly on the arm of the couch- pressed, steamed, clean. It's seen brawls, sobbing victims, a few drunks here and there. Not much considering he started out small and was a complete newbie to the ropes.

Dean lives in the small border city of Atchison, Kansas. It's not much. Hardly anything if you really think about it or look and see it for a split second on a map. People stop here from Missouri to get to Kansas City or Topeka; sometimes it's people from Kansas that finally decided it was time to get out and needed a rest stop along their departure.

Dean scrunches his brow, the fading light streaming softly through his windows and curtains. He's got the late shift tonight, and it's Friday- meaning everyone's going to be out drinking and having a good time, except for him, of course. No, there's going to be a few drunk drivers here and there and an occasional woman who's so plastered she can't walk or talk straight- but Dean's gotten used to it by now. That's what happens to you if you're a cop for too long.

The coffee he makes is burnt and gritty, but he drinks it anyway. He doesn't have the patience to fix another pot- or the money to throw a full one out just because he wasn't paying attention and left it on the burner for too long. Along with the overdone tar that Dean was supposed to call coffee, he made himself a slice of toast. The crust burnt the pads of his fingers a little- but it doesn't matter because it's insignificant just as the taste of his sludge is. It's a shit "breakfast" for him, but it's better than having to patrol on a completely empty stomach.

His phone vibrates; it must be his partner and best friend, a honorary title- Sam Wesson.

He gets up, pulling the mobile off the coffee table and flips it open gingerly, Sam's text on the screen appearing before him, "Hey- we've got a special job tonight. Be over at the office at seven instead of the usual spot."

"Will do- care to explain?"

He swigs a bit more of his well done beverage before he looks at his partner's reply, "It's something I have to do in person, trust me. There's too much to go over when it's a text- but I assure you, you'll get your explanation. At the office. At seven."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Dean snorts, setting his mug and plate in the sink to wash later. He catches a quick shower before he has to go down to the station. Right before he gets in his car, he gets his suit on. It fits snugly on him as he drives, the lights overhead whirring past on his way to see whatever the fuck he was supposed to be doing tonight. Dean's a little uneasy as to what Sam is going to tell him- but he's not too sure it's going to be good, considering he was an officer of the law- called upon whenever things went terribly, terribly wrong.

When he arrives to the station, there's a meeting in one of the conference rooms; all of the officers piled up into the small space with coffee and donuts. It seems a little cliche or a start of a bad joke- but as Dean walks up he sees it's a very serious and tense situation.

"We've got to do something!" a woman huffs, "We just can't sit here; having all those people still in there knowing what's going to happen!"

"There's nothing else to do that will work! They'll know about our mole if we try and stop it- or make anything seem out of the ordinary! We just have to come about this right!"

Sam sees Dean and looks relieved, "About time you showed up… The whole damn force is beside themselves."

Dean snorts, "Yeah I can tell- why does it look like some soap opera in there? What's going on?"

"What I was talking about in the text. You know our mole we have in the Morriston drug ring? Well, they recently found out there's some raid about to go down in the Bank of America on sixth tonight."

"You've got to be fucking joking!" Dean's mouth is a little agape as his words rush out to his partner, "They can't be pulling something like that! That's almost suicide! What's there anyways? We're such a small town it shouldn't matter!"

Sam sighs, "It seems so. But think about it. There's only about twelve people who are cops here- us included… That's the point: it's because we're so small and defenseless, Dean. Don't you see it? There's not a huge amount of officers, and we're several hours out of any city who can lend anyone to us. We're practically secluded!"

Dean bites his lower lip, mostly cursing to himself, "Shit..."

"That's right, it is shit. We have no idea what we're gonna do because we can't out ourselves because it'll make it obvious we know what's going to happen."

"So, what's the plan then? If we can't show up with guns blazing, how the fuck are we going to stop them from stealing anything or whatever?"

Sam shrugs, "I have no idea. I think you and I are going to be placed inside while they try to figure out who's behind this. We're going to try to stop them before anything happens."

Dean nods.

They get into the car that's waiting for them; a rental just in case anything like this ever happens and they need something undercover and discrete. Dean's fingers gripping the wheel as he drives, his uneasiness twisting itself onto his nerves like poisonous weeds. He's a little worried about what's going to happen, after all.

Somehow, the Morriston drug ring was managing to run rampant through Kansas in the past few years. Dean doesn't know why- considering there's better states to conduct that kind of business in- but he can't call out the shots for them. It's when they're about two blocks out from the bank Dean shuts off the flow of his thoughts. The pair strips themselves of their uniforms- deciding that they need to be completely undercover so that the ringers don't know they're onto them.

Dean's in faded jeans and a plain gray tee, his suit tucked into the trunk carefully next to Sam's. He's even got the special 1911 Colt with the ivory handles and engravings tucked into the dip of his back just in case. Dean finishes driving up to the Bank of America, eyes scanning the building for any sign of unusual activity. The beat his heart has gets faster.

"We'll just walk in- look for anything suspicious and just do our jobs, okay?"

Dean nods, "Yeah- because knowing about a crime before it happens makes it all the easier, doesn't it?"

They step inside, detecting everyone around them carefully. It's at least an hour before the bank closes, so there's only a certain window the Morristons have to strike. He's staring at and old women clutching her cane awkwardly when Sam motions him over.

"There, over by the potted plant. If he turns just enough you can see the gun on his waist."

Sure enough, as the man in question shifts a little, a shine appears that's obviously not a bell buckle, "Alright- go zero in and I'll try to clear people out and find those sons of a bitches."

It's all a blur really, because Sam's sprinting away suddenly with gun raised and Dean finds that he's running himself- except it's towards another man who has his own weapon pulled with a bank teller to it's barrel.

"Let him go!" Dean spits out, his Colt leaving the small of his back and into his trained hands, "I will shoot you!"

"Go ahead!" The armed man shouts in a mixture of rage and adrenaline. His eyes flicking between Dean and the teller whose forehead is pressing against the end of his pistol, eyes looking towards Dean and the colt. Fear is pouring off of him as he gets shoved a little and put in front, the armed man tightening the grip he has on his jacket when he snickers sinisterly, "See who you'll kill first."

Dean has a perfect aim on the armed man if the teller moves enough- about a square inch to the left. The barrel of his Colt is at the right angle to pierce a kidney or shoot through the man's lower back bone when he can have the split second to pull the trigger. Each is as fatal as the next.

But he doesn't know which he should take- there's too much that can go wrong in those precious seconds that are passing right before him. His finger slides further to the trigger, sweat gleaming on his forehead as he aims the shot up with the person's heart, also in aim with the teller's- those blue eyes going wild as he processes Dean's movements and readies himself for what's going to happen. What he doesn't expect is the explosion.

It's small, but for the compact room and the amount of people inside it's around nuclear in force and sound.

People fall like the gravitational pressure in the room changed tremendously and was forced on them (good edit, Aus. :D). Screams and crumbling concrete pierce through the air as the cop's eardrums slightly ring from the blast. Dean frantically looks through the smoke and building flames, trying to see where the man and the teller went. People sprint past him, more dust and smoke filling his lungs as he coughs into his bare and bloody elbow.

His eyes as stinging as he yells out, "Where are you!?"

"Here! Over by the counter!"

Dean hears the voice, but doesn't see who's speaking because of the smoke and debris flittering through like ashen snowflakes. He holds the Colt tighter in his hands, cursing as he works his way around the bodies rushing past him towards the counter ten or five feet away. Dean finds the teller, the form of his shooter and broken blocks of mortar and the bank lying on top of him as he chokes on the tiles below. The cop sees his blue eyes stick out, the yellow and orange flames dancing on them as he grabs the hand reaching from the rubble and pulls him up.

"Can you walk?" Dean yells into his ear, his voice barely coming through the cracking of the flames around them.

The teller looks at him, "I'm not sure… A huge chunk of the ceiling landed on my leg…"

"Shit..."

He lifts the teller's arm up and wraps it around his shoulder, finding the exit and preparing himself, "Come on, we're getting out of here."

The man leans on him, limping alongside Dean as they both cough and stutter out of the building. There's several bodies they pass- at least six, all still and unmoving. Two pairs of eyes linger on them as they slowly work their way out of the burning building.

There's so much smoke, too much as the wood gives out a bit behind them, specs of flame spit forth and nip Dean's exposed skin. His vision is blurring as hot tears slide down his gritty cheeks, lungs burning as the toxic fumes outweigh the oxygen as he coughs. The teller is sagging more and more onto Dean, his effort growing sluggish and weak. He's starting to feel like dead weight on his shoulder. Dean's just got to push- to make it to the door that's only a few precious feet away.

He collapses on the concrete steps, barely even outside the door, as he gasps out and vomits in the bushes a few inches away. He's coughing instead of breathing, his eyes burning just like the bank directly behind him. He can feel the hands grabbing him and picking him up, dragging him away to flashing lights. It's in slow motion, rain drops hitting his skin and collecting the grime of the building and fire with it. Dean feels the ache in his ribs, the drag of his muscles that are too weak to let him even stand. He feels like one of the corpses they're just starting to bring out from the torched skeleton of the bank- flames reaching up into the black and smoke-filled air.

"Dean!" Sam runs up, eyes darting all over his skin, "I was outside when the building just- exploded. Are you alright?"

Dean feels himself slip into cop mode. He always does when things get too much for him, "I'm fine, Sam. Just make sure the teller is okay- he should be in the other ambulance."

"You seem a little 'on the job' for just being in a building that's about to collapse-" the bank crumples as soon as the words left his mouth, "huh, the irony."

Dean shakes his head, the movement just a little too fast for him as his stomach lurches, "It's fine, Sammy… Just question him."

Sam's mouth is set in a straight line as he replies, "Can't."

"Why? He's right there-"

Dean shuts up as notices he's in the only ambulance left at the bank. People are still running about and the fire's still licking up at the sky, but he's still here. The teller isn't.

"I need to get to the hospital- I need to talk to him."

Dean starts to get up, several nurses and Sam pushing him back down onto the stretcher, "No Dean. Look, they're going to check you out and then we're going to go ask some questions. I don't want to be driving you to the hospital and have something go wrong."

"But I've go to-"

"_Get cleared before you go anywhere._ It's not a choice for you, Dean. You were in an explosion, were almost shot, and were nearly crushed in a burning building to top it off. You're getting 'okayed' before you do anything else- no other options until they clear you."

Dean grunts, letting the nurses work on him, "Fine.. But you're getting me a damn apple pie for this shit."

His partner laughs, "I'll keep that in mind."

Dean's slumping against the passenger seat as Sam drives. He's too winded to be, nerves too wound up and jumpy for the wheel to be at his control. Besides, it's not best to after the shit he's just been through. Either way it's a little disgruntling because Dean loves driving.

The other thing mainly bothering him are all these damn questions. Why the damn bank? Why the teller than any other pedestrian in the bank? Why was his head so fucking sore?

"Hey, calm yourself. The EMT said you had a mild concussion."

"Tonight's been rough as fuck, Sammy…" Dean groans, his head still aching as he set it against the headrest, "I don't even want to know how I'm going to feel in the morning."

Sam snorts, "Neither do I. Just don't drowse off, we're going to be there in five minutes."

The hospital isn't too much, several stories and up to date enough to take in the steady stream of patients. Tonight there's people rushing everywhere, Dean blinking at how many ambulances are lined up outside the building with their lights flashing about and it makes Dean want to shut his eyes. He feels the drop in his stomach a little, seeing his partner stare at the scene with hard eyes.

"This is the busiest they've ever been in years…" Sam mumbles mostly to himself.

Dean understands. He knows this is Sammy's hometown and it means a lot to him- it's why he joined the force here. He wanted to keep things safe and under control because it's where he grew up, where he scuffed his knees as a kid- where he truly felt at home. Dean gets it, because he sort of feels the same way about Lawrence- probably always will. It means it's so easy to see the slight tremble in Sammy's jaw and the sheen over his eyes, and Dean decides it's best to just leave it at that.

They get out of the car, Dean's legs not in their best condition, but tolerable enough to work. His partner guides him in and goes to the front desk.

"There was a man brought here- black hair and blue eyes, about twenty-two- do you know what room he's in?" Sam asks, pulling his badge out to show the woman.

She nods, "Oh- Castiel Novak- he's in room two hundred and six. Second floor."

Sammy nods, pulling Dean alongside him because he's starting to zone out. Dean knows he's does it whenever something or a case is getting to him, or the hours have taken their toll- but he can't help as the noises around him smush together and make a trainwreck of a soundtrack. It's only when he gets to the door of Castiel's room that his hearing relatively comes back, brain reassessing his surroundings now it's mostly worn off.

"I'm going to do most of the questioning, okay De-"

Dean's already pushing past Sam through the door, his partner huffing behind him. Dean walks in, seeing the teller he had pulled from the building- those same blue eyes from before staring straight at him just like they had as the bank burned around them. It's odd, not to see the fire dancing against them- but it's also a relief.

"I'm police officer Dean Winchester- this is my partner Sam Wesson. I know I'm the one who was in the bank, but we've got some questions to ask you."

Castiel seems to soften a little in his hospital bed, "Thanks for that… Just ask away- I'm really tired for obvious reasons."

Dean nods, sinking back into cop mode, "Do you know why your bank was a target for the Morriston ring?"

"Sadly I do…" Castiel fiddles with the clip on his finger, the pulse reader quickening a little, "Part of my job is to overlook accounts, see if there's any suspicious activity on them and to address it. Just the other day I stumbled on several accounts open with us here in town and they were- well, literally bringing in several thousand dollars a week. Five digits, at least."

Sam pulls Dean over for a quick second, "Can see why he got curious- no one here makes that kind of money."

Dean nods, taking in his partner's words and returning to the man in the bed before him, "So you did something with the accounts, I'm assuming?"

"I did… I froze them…" Castiel bites his lip, "Seems that was a mistake to have made. I guess afterwards they figured out who stopped their money flow and there was my name. I didn't know it was going to get this bad…"

"You say that like it was going on a little before this, why is that?"

Castiel sighs, "Because it was. They've been threatening me for several days. I didn't know it would lead up to… this."

Dean notices the slight tremble of Castiel's chin, foreboding to something Dean didn't want to deal with- at least not tonight. He looks over at Sam, motioning him to watch the door. The cop pulls up a chair, sitting next to Castiel because his legs feel like they're about to give out, his breath sounds like a sigh of relief once his weight is off his legs.

Castiel gets a moment, because Dean knows he needs one. It's from working the job so long that he knows by the gleam in someone's eye when they're pushed too far or it's become too much to process. He's sure Castiel is buckling under some invisible weight- one circumstance saddled him with, or one he gave himself. Either way, the man's trying to gain control of himself and he just needs a few seconds.

"So…" Dean begins softly, "They've been stalking you for a few weeks…"

Castiel nods, their voices hushed because he's more than likely feeling vulnerable, "Yeah… I won't be surprised if they find me here. It'll be obvious where I'm going, shouldn't it? Besides, they're the Morriston ring. Of course they'll find me."

Dean pricks up at Castiel's words, because it's true. As prominent and well funded as the Morriston ring was, they could easily find Castiel and do what they liked with him. The thought unsettled Dean, because as a cop his main rule was to keep everyone safe, or try to. He knows he just can't hand Castiel over to witness protection, that there are so many questionable people there it won't matter how well hidden Castiel might think he is- besides, there's records. What Castiel needs, is to go off grid and stay hidden.

"When's the earliest you can leave the hospital?"

"They said I'm just a little shaken and battered. The worst I got was a minor limp from that piece of ceiling. They said I can walk normally in a few days."

Dean nods, "Anything else?"

Castiel shakes his head, eyes narrowing a little, "No… Why are you asking me this?"

"Because-" Dean thinks about what he's going to do and sighs, "I'm going to make sure you don't get killed."

Castiel is about to ask more, but Dean's not one for giving answers when there's an issue to be dealt with. He's got to convince Sammy, take their car- he doesn't know. The cop does his best to think about what he can do to get himself and Castiel out of there before it's too late from him.

"Hey, Sammy." Dean says, the door open enough to where he can whisper to his partner, "I'm going to stay here with him just in case. You got a ride home you can catch?"

Sam pauses, looking a little confused, but nods eventually, "Uhh- yeah. I'll give Bobby a call and he can drop by. Be sure to drop it back by at later."

Dean nods, knowing full and well Sam will probably never see the car again.

Castiel is eyeing him as Dean runs a hand through his hair, "Try and get some sleep. I'll wake you when something happens."

The teller looks weary at first, then nods. He settles himself in the covers and gives a sigh, his face falling lax and chest rising and falling evenly. Dean stares at Castiel for a moment, letting his face get worn into his memory- because he's going to need it.

All Dean needs to do is get a few hours and then he can go.

…

It's a nurse that wakes Dean up, his neck stiff from passing out in the chair. She's got a smile on her face, it seems sympathetic- oh dear god. She thought Dean was here because Castiel was sick or something. Dean doesn't say anything however, because there's no point to. He's about to be running away with him shortly- or evading the Morristons.

Dean goes into the bathroom while the nurse does whatever she's supposed to with Castiel. Meanwhile, Dean's washing his face off with cold water in the small space to seep some wariness into his aching bones. He looks up into the mirror, seeing his reflection- and he hopes, hopes to whoever's listening that this is going to wind up okay for the both of them. He steps out, noticing that the nurse left and he shakes Castiel.

"Hey- we gotta move."

"But I have to be-"

Dean shakes his head, "Doesn't matter, I'm sure they're waiting till the records show that you're checked out. It's best to leave before you're discharged so they have the wrong information while we gun it. Can you get up?"

Castiel nods slightly, "I should be able to. My leg's not at a hundred percent so I'm unsure how this is going to work."

"Don't worry about it…" Dean helps pull him off the mattress, "I'm going to figure it out."

The cop looks out between the door frame and Castiel's room. He's searching for anyone who looks suspicious or an exit way that will get them outside and on the ground floor without causing too much attraction to them. He tightens the grip he has on Castiel's wrist- because he's got to keep him safe or near him, especially if there could be a Morriston around any corner waiting for them.

"Dean, what are you-"

"I'll explain once we're in the car. Until then, just keep quiet and do as I say."

Castiel still looks confused, but he nods and wraps his fingers onto Dean's belt loop.

"Alright, we're going to have to take the stairs for staff, okay? I'm going to have to get some scrubs for us- just wait here and stay in the bathroom with the door locked and only open it if I come knockin', alright?"

The ex-teller nods, "Okay, Dean. I trust you."

Dean nods, waiting till he hears the click of the lock to move. He's going to be five minutes, tops- and the cop speed walks down the hallway to a staff closet he saw on the way in. It's funny, that they haven't even gotten out of the hospital and Castiel already encloses him with his life. Such blind faith.

Dean unlocks the door with a pick he owns just in case, sliding through the open door. He guesses that he and Castiel are around the same size, the only major difference is the amount of muscle and height, so he grabs two pairs of scrubs that are the same size. Dean slides them underneath his shirt, trying to make it look like belly fat or something other than clothes tucked underneath his dirtied and burnt tee.

He shuts the door, running back up the hallway and entering Castiel's room. Dean does a quick sweep- no one in the room other than him. He raps on the door, quickly shutting the one to the room and waiting for Castiel.

"Dean?"

"Yeah it's me-" he starts untucking the scrubs from his clothes, "I got the stuff. It should fit."

Castiel steps out, taking the few clothes in his hand and looking away awkwardly, "Do you mind? …"

Dean stops pulling at the zipper of his jeans, remembering that he and Castiel are still strangers to each other- and here he is, about to pull down his pants as though he was best friends with him. Hell- he wouldn't do it with Sammy and they'd been working together for at least two years.

"Oh… Sorry…"

Dean clears his throat nervously as Castiel makes a small nod and shuts the door to the bathroom again. Dean's sure he's around a shade of red that would make an apple jealous, but he shrugs it off just like he does his clothes. He pulls bottom part of the scrubs over his skin, a little relieved to have ridden himself of all the cloth that still coated itself in dirt and singe marks.

Castiel steps out- or limps a little- the teal mixing in with the color of his eyes as Dean looks over. His shirt is still lying on the bed, and somehow he makes the look last a millisecond longer than he's comfortable with. Dean flings it over his head, biting his lip in a frustrated manner with his back turned to Castiel.

"Ready?"

"Yeah…" Dean walks over to help Castiel lean on him, "All we have to do is make it down those stairs and to the car."

The steps are a little hard to take, Castiel slumping onto Dean as they work their way down the steps. Dean's too sore and overworked to be doing this for two people, but he knows he has no other choice. That if he takes another way Castiel will be recognized or something else could go wrong. He couldn't have that happen- no, not at all.

Not when Castiel was fighting a war he didn't belong in, that he was a man who knew right from wrong and was only trying to do the moral thing. All it got him were death threats and nearly a building to collapse on top of him. So if Dean had to push himself, had to go rogue cop for Castiel's safety- he knew he could manage, especially when he thought about one of those bodies in the bank being Castiel's instead of someone who got really unlucky with the wrong surroundings and people.

Dean couldn't truly explain it if he tried.


	2. Chapter 2

"Dean-" Castiel closes the car door, sighing a breath outwards as he buckles, "What are we doing?"

"I'm taking you off grid, Castiel. If the Morriston ring is so apt on coming after you- then it's my job to keep you safe."

He quirks a brow, "Isn't that what witness protection does?"

Dean nods, "More or less… I just- … I can't hand you over to them- I just have this feeling in my gut, you know? The ones you get when you know something's going to go completely wrong or somethin'..."

"So you're saying…" Castiel pauses, "That even if I went with them I'd still have a target painted on my back?"

Dean nods, "Outlined in neon, most definitely."

Castiel lets his head fall back onto his seat, "So that's it, right? I'm coming with you on this- thing, to save my life?"

The soon to be ex-cop goes a little over the speed limit, "Yeah, that's the jist of it."

Castiel snorts. Then it turns into a chuckle, and then a laugh. Soon Castiel is holding his stomach and wiping at his eyes. Dean's a little confused- because nothing funny happened and Castiel should be afraid for his life. But here he is, laughing so hard he's crying in Dean's passenger seat.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing it's just-" he giggles a little more, "I barely even know you yet I fucking trust you- with my life, no less!"

Dean shrugs, "I did save you from the bank."

Castiel goes quiet at that. Dean supposes he hit a nerve, something too raw in Castiel right now- and he feels a little bad for it. He wants to say it's okay, or that he shouldn't have brought last night up- but they're already at Dean's house, so it's too late to apologize.

"Why are we stopping?"

Dean gets out, locking the doors before he shuts his, "I'm going to go inside, get a few things- and then we're going to fucking book it out of here."

His house is nothing much, never really was if Dean thinks about it. Its small, with one bedroom that's dingy. But its his house, it's his home. It's where he goes to sleep and night and wakes in the morning. It's where he burns his coffee and sometimes watches really bad horror films with Sam on his lumpy couch. It's where he reads a book every now and then on the small porch with the front door open as the cars hum past. It's the first place he bought when it came time for his independence and for the start of life on his own. His house fits him like a worn pair of jeans, nice and easy, loose from where it's gotten used to Dean's touch. Now, he has to throw those special jeans away like they were nothing more than a piece of cloth.

Dean walks up to his front door, feeling a little off about it being the last time he's going to pull his keys out and unlock deadbolts and enter. He bites his lower lip, swallowing his emotions back and turning the key, pulling the door open up to his darkened living room. It's just like he left it- shit coffee still in the pot and his dishes in the sink. It's going to spoil, and the cup and plate won't ever be clean again- and it's weird to know that when the realization emerges in his head.

He walks into the back room, getting several bags out and stuffing as much clothes as he can into them. It's just faded t-shirts and worn jeans, not much- but better than nothing because he knows he and Castiel won't have enough resources for a new wardrobe for the both of them. Dean has to remind himself to stop worrying, that it'll all be okay and they'll both be fine.

Half way through filling the bag, he stops. He looks at the sight in front of him. A bag with clothes that will never be in his closet again, a bed that will never lull him to sleep and keep him warm and comfortable as he slowly wakes. It's somber, really.

"Dean, are you okay?"

Dean's head shoots up, Castiel's voice scaring him a little. He gets a little angry that he left the car without permission, but decides it's better that he can actually watch him, "I'm fine, Cas… Don't worry about it…"

He seems to doubt him, eyes lingering on his for a few seconds with a concern Dean's never seen before, but it's gone as quickly as it came with a few seconds and replaced with something calm, "Can I help?"

"Sure…"

"What do I need to do?"

Dean sighs, "Closet, right there beside the bathroom. On the second shelf is some first aid supplies- take this bag and fill it as much as you can. We're not going to be able to go to a doctor's or hospital yet, so we're going to have to wing it from here on until I figure something out."

Castiel takes the bag between his fingertips, "Alright… If you need me to do anything else, just tell me."

The ex-cop nods, going back to shoving the few articles of clothing he owned into the bag. Once it's full, he takes a quick moment to go back into his closet, stomach uneasy to how empty and unused it looks- but he pushes through it. His fingers go up to the box of bullets and other items on the small shelf above the clothing rack. The knife he has nearly grazes his fingertip, it's reflective surface making a small line of light appear on the ceiling as Dean pulls it down. There's one more item, nothing much, but better than anything. It's a jar of coins- one Dean's been piling up for several years. It's leftover from late night coffee shop runs and energy drink purchases- and he's glad he has it.

"I got it packed, Dean." Castiel walks into the room, noticing all the items strewn about, especially the two guns and a knife lying on Dean's blankets, "I'll… I'll get some food together- prepackaged if I can find it… And water bottles..."

Dean nods, watching Castiel leave. He's still in the scrubs, not limping as bad as he was- so there's a plus. Dean sets out a small outfit for him, a faded Star Wars shirt and jeans with a hole in the right knee. He supposes he should change too, and does it quickly. There isn't much time.

Soon he and Cas have all of these things pulled together, and Dean pauses a moment in the living room right before he leaves. He runs over, grabbing a sheet of paper and a pen, scrawling a quick letter to Sammy before he truly leaves Atchison for the last time.

'_Dear Sam,_

_I'm so fucking sorry, Sam. I had to- especially when he told me they were after him. You know how I am, when people tell me they're scared or need help, and I drop everything for them in a split second. I guess that's what happening now- except on a larger scale. _

_I'm sorry if this ruins our partnership- because I know for fucking certain they aren't gonna let me back into the force after this- but I swear Sammy, I never wanted something like this to happen. Hell, I never thought it would- because it's so damn crazy and big- but it's gotta be done. I can't let them kill Cas- I just can't __and I don't know why__._

_Maybe because I just see him in me, or something. Sounds sappy, I know- but it's true, Sammy. He's trying to do the right thing, and I can't have him murdered or worse over it- especially if I could have done something and kept him alive. _

_So I'm helping him hide- I don't know how really, or how long this is supposed to be, fuck- I don't have a damn clue. But I know it's going to work, I just really fucking hope in the end. _

_I'll figure something out- I always do. I'm a half-planned man and I think that's my best trait. Or- it may be my my worst. I hope if I ever do see you again it's not in a pine box or in a jail cell. _

_Sorry about the car, I have nothing else to resort to…_

_It was fun being your partner._

_-Dean_ '

Dean shuts the door, knows he's leaving his life behind in just a few steps- but he walks to the car anyways. Cas looks exhausted, head lolling to one side with his eyes fluttering closed as Dean gets in and starts the car.

"This is fucking crazy…" he mumbles, wrapping a small blanket around him.

"Yeah… I know."

Before he falls asleep, he says one last thing in a slurred voice, "Just wake me up in a few hours, I should be okay then… Thank you, Dean."

"You're welcome, Cas."

…

The highway rolls past while Cas sleeps, the radio buzzing faint songs from stations Dean doesn't care to memorize. He's got about five hours left in him of driving, if that- then he needs to sleep and just have some down time and shower. He sighs, grip on the steering wheel tightening as the line of trees blurs past.

"D-Dean? …" Cas mutters, head lifting slowly, "Where are we?"

"A few miles outside of Emporia. We're gonna stop there and rest up."

Castiel nods his head in affirmation and pulls the blanket tighter around his thin frame, eyeing the dashboard like it was the most interesting thing the universe had to offer at the moment.

"Something wrong?" Dean asks.

Cas shakes his head, "No… Why?"

"Just wondering, Cas."

"That's okay, Dean."

Dean nods, focusing back onto the road. He stops at a motel, using some of the cash he pulled out and sets it on the desk. The lady working at it smiles, putting it aside and having Dean sign some type of registry. He puts a fake name, of course- and is about to tell her to have a good day when she beats him to a conversation.

"So- you and your boyfriend traveling?"

Dean's tongue stills in his mouth, "Uhh- what?"

"It's okay to get flustered," she assures, "we're a sexuality accepting business. We don't mind as long as you two keep it down."

Dean wants to puke a little as she winks, the air growing awkward. He doesn't even try to deny it because he knows it won't do him any good. Dean only nods, grabbing the keys off the counter and nearly fumbling with them. He somehow makes it to the door without falling over or tripping.

"I'll keep that in mind…" Dean mumbles, twisting the door knob to exit.

Cas is waiting outside for him, leaning on the rental car with his hair ruffling a little in the breeze, his ankles casually crossed just like his forearms, "You look like you were almost skinned in there."

"You don't even want to know…" Dean sighs, rubbing his forehead with his index finger and thumb, his nerves bundling up and tangling- and he's sure the woman is staring at them from the reception desk.

"That bad or something?" Cas chuckles, a smiling brimming on his lips.

Dean shoots him a look that says, 'trust me, you don't wanna know' and Cas seems to catch onto it.

They enter the room, only one king sized bed lining the wall. Dean groans at the sight, fingers dragging on his skin as Cas swallowed uneasily beside him. They bring some of their stuff in, setting it onto the floor while the sun slowly fell behind the tree line. They get a few things from the diner up the road and walk back to the room.

It's around ten now, the crickets humming outside the window as Bambi starts up. Cas tilts his head towards the screen, eyes narrowing and uncertain as the old music starts playing.

"Uhh-" he sets his burger down, "Dean?"

He tilts his head up, mouth full of beef and cheese, "What, Cas?"

"I- I've never seen this before…" He admits.

"Are you joking? Who hasn't seen Bambi?"

"Me." Cas deadpans.

Dean snorts, "I got that. Only people who weren't raised right haven't seen Bambi!"

Cas nods, "I guess I wasn't raised to the proper standard…"

"Time to fix that, then."

Castiel nodded and pulled his legs up to his chest. His eyes now focused intently on the screen.

Dean watched Castiel's reaction closely. Cas' eyes would widen in surprise, the corners would crinkle when he smiled, brows touching when upset and eyes brimmed with tears when he was sad. Especially when the death scene started.

"Dean.. why? Why did they kill his mother? She was innocent!" He said, looking at Dean like he had all the answers in the world- or at least to Bambi.

"Well, um, the human was hunting and he decided she was going to be his prey." Dean nodded his head once at his explanation. Simple and clean, just like what you would tell a small child when they came to you with thousands of questions about the hard truths of reality.

"A hunter deemed her to be his prey? But she was innocent! Why can someone decide that one thing is prey when they don't deserve to be? Now, her son is abandoned and all alone with nothing while the hunter lives with his killing like it's nothing more than a pile of meat. It-it's not right, Dean." Castiel sniffed. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, applying more force than necessary. As if the more the force given on them means less tears for him to shed.

"Come on, Cas. It's not a big deal- it's Disney for christ's sake!" Dean said, raising his hand to the screen, trying to show Cas how he was overreacting.

"Dean, saying '_it's Disney'_ doesn't make it okay."

Dean snorted, "It's just a movie, Cas. Don't get your panties in a twist."

"First of all, Dean, I do not wear-" Cas makes air quotes in pure frustration " 'panties', and second, this movie relates to actual life events in my opinion. Every day a being that's more power-filled deems a creature of less significance their prey. They hunt, kill, and hunt again until their prey is dead or they are pleased that they're scared."

"Is this really about the movie, Cas?"

There's a shaky breath from the floor, and Dean realizes it then. It isn't about the movie anymore- it never was. Bambi may be crying out on screen but it's not what Castiel is truly taking about. It's him- it's about how how he's being hunted by the Morriston ring, how they were trying to kill him even though he was an innocent man. The tears made sense, the shaky quality to his words clicked into place- it all did. Cas was terrified, utterly frozen onto the floor with tears still streaming down his face because he was on the run for his fucking life.

"Cas-" Dean slinks down to the floorboards, knees pressing into them uncomfortably, "Oh Cas- I'm fucking stupid."

He just shakes his head, palms near his eyes while they remain closed, "No- it's nothing."

"What you're feeling isn't 'nothing' Cas- you just can't write it off. Just tell me- please." Dean pleads.

Cas looks up, a few more tears streaming down his cheeks, eyes red and puffy as he sobs out his words, "I just can't do this Dean- I fucked up so much… I shouldn't have flagged those damn accounts- none of this would have happened… It's all my fault."

Dean shakes his head, placing his fingers gently onto Cas' wrists, "It's okay, you didn't know-"

"And it doesn't matter, Dean!" Cas snaps, "I killed them! I killed all of them! Those six people in the bank that died- I fucking knew them Dean! When I close my eyes I can still see their limp corpses and know why they are there! WHAT MAKES THIS OKAY, DEAN!? Tell me! I knew every single fucking one of them- and I KILLED THEM DEAN!"

Dean sits on the balls of his heels, "Cas… You didn't kill them, it wasn't your fault."

Cas shakes his head side to side, tears falling and splattering onto the floor, droplets scattering about, "It's all my fault, Dean! They're dead now! Several of them had kids- one of them was about to go to college! They had lives and I fucking ended them!"

"Cas-" Dean's unsure of what to say or do- because what makes sense right now? Castiel is looking at him with tears flowing like a stream, blue irises darting in his gaze and quivering.

He's so broken looking, like he was the one who pulled the trigger or set off the bomb, like it was his fault. Dean felt his stomach lurch at the thought.

"That's not true, Cas. None of it is. I promise you that."

Cas is still shuddering against him, "I- I don't believe y-you…"

Dean pulls him close, rubbing his fingers through his hair and shushing him, "It's alright- it's alright, Cas."

Cas pulls on his shirt, tears soaking through the fabric and dragging on Dean's skin. He feels awful about it- knowing he can't do anything to change what's happened or how Cas is feeling. He wants to, he really does, but he can't. That's what makes it all the more surreal. Dean's used to being the one to save people. Whether it be from an armed robber or a simple thief who was at the end of his ropes, it didn't matter. He's saved Cas before- from the burning building and the gunman- but he hasn't saved Cas from his own demons that are trapped inside and ripping him apart as he sobs against him. Frankly, he's not sure if he can.

Dean pulls them up onto the bed, Cas too busy crying into him to notice anything else- even when the mattress sinks beneath them from their weight. Dean tries to calm Cas, saying gentle words and running a hand soothingly over his back. It's not the first time he's had to do this- especially with some victims who are so utterly lost on scene. Dean does his best to support those who cannot do the same with themselves.

After an hour, Cas seems to quiet himself. He's breathing unevenly into Dean's shirt while his fingers pop with how hard he's gripping his tee. Dean comforts him for just a few more seconds, and then switches into cop mode.

He needs a gun, one that's armed and ready just in case they're discovered- so he grabs the Colt. Cas notices it, puffy eyes widening at it and his mouth opening a little. He's starting to shake while he stares at the engravings on it's side. Dean notices, quickly tucking it into the small of his back.

"Hey- it's okay. I'm just getting it ready just in case…"

"I know it's just… you had it pointed at me once, ready to fire."

Dean remembers it faintly, "Sorry… I promise I'll keep it out of your way as best as I can, then-"

Cas grabs onto his wrist before he can make the gun leave his skin, "No- it's fine, Dean… I shouldn't be doing this when you're trying to protect me… Just do what you have to with it… I'll be fine."

The man finds himself nodding, lowering his arm back into the covers. Cas blinks one more time, eyes drifting close and his breaths growing smaller and even. Dean's a little glad he can keep the Colt- it had been a gift from Sam after they passed the one year mark of being partners. They had gotten a small bonus for some special case they finished together- and as a surprise, Sam bought him the Colt. At first, Dean thought it was a little gaudy. It had engravings in it after all and ivory handles, but as heard about it's Colt title and 1911 year- he's view changed on after he shot it for the first time. It's been with Dean ever since then.

Dean feels a little better when his eyes close a bit.

…

"Dean!"

His head shoots up, hand rushing towards the Colt and whipping it from it's makeshift sheathe, "Cas!"

He's nowhere in the bed, the sheets ruffled around him, "Fuck Cas- where are you!?"

There's a bang from the bathroom, Dean jumps off the bed and somehow runs over there in seconds. The door's locked, and Dean can hear Cas in there with whoever broke in. Dean readies himself, shifting his weight and kicking the door in. The sudden light of the open door floods his eyes.

Castiel is being held by some crazed man- going by the scabs and lines on his face, Dean recognizes him as a meth addict, so it equals Morriston- with a knife pressed against the skin of Cas' throat. Dean grits his teeth, fingers tightening on his gun. Cas sort of chokes at the angle his throat his being held at- and Dean can tell from right there it's going to bruise later.

"Let him go." Dean calmly orders, eyes connecting with Castiel's for a moment before going back to the man about to kill him.

"Or what? You'll shoot me?" his laugh sounds more like a constricted wheeze, "I'm shocked- go ahead and do it- that won't spare your little fuck buddy from what's comin' to him!"

Cas closes his eyes, biting his lower lip as the blade starts to pull back- but Dean's faster than this druggie. His finger pulls back the trigger in a practiced ease, the shot goes off. Cas cries out as the shot vibrates on the walls and rings in their ears. It's all Dean can hear as he stumbles over to Cas to pick him up.

There's blood everywhere, brain bits spattered all over amongst the crimson dripping downwards. His skull is practically destroyed- considering it's a forty-five caliber gun. Cas looks up to Dean- hands trembling as a few drops of blood trickle down his face. Dean knows Cas is probably hearing nothing but the ringing now, so he quickly hurries up and grabs him. Attempting to use the piercing sound as a slight distraction.

There's not much time, and with the loss of their hearing it makes it dire for the both of them. He practically shoves Cas into the front seat- pulling the car into drive and gunning it out of there. Dean's sure he's speeding, sure that Cas is on the verge of some breakdown from the look on his face as they speed off.

Dean wants to stop, wants to pull over and just let his stomach empty itself- because he just killed a man. Sure, not the best one out of the lot, but still. It doesn't matter if he was a dick, it matters that he's dead with a bullet from Dean's Colt lodged in the remnants of his skull and brain tissue. It's never easy for Dean to take a life, especially when he didn't want to- and that's usually always. Right now there's a cooling body on those bathroom tiles and it's because of him.

"Dean-"

His head whips to the man beside him, there's still blood coating his face and he's staring at Dean- it's a miracle their hearing is back by now, "What Cas?"

"You've been speeding for six hours, I think you can give your lead foot a little rest off the pedal."

Dean almost slams on the breaks at those words, six hours? How could six hours be so fast? Last time Dean checked seconds composed minutes, and those composed the hours- so how in the fuck did so much time pass without him noticing?

"Just pull up over here to this motel," the blood on Cas' face isn't wet anymore, long since dry and cracked, "we can stop and you can rest for a bit- I'm going to drive tomorrow, okay?" Castiel cautiously asks, lightly touching Deans hand with the pads of his fingers.

Dean just nods, because he still isn't himself right now- because all he does when he blinks his eyes closed is see that damn tiled bathroom and the body lying there in blood- his finger pulling of the trigger with his barrell smoking. If this is anything like what Cas is dealing with then he sorry for the man. Its all blood and gun shots. No happy memories if he even tries. No cold sweet tea in the heat of summer on the porch, no smiling faces, all red splatters and broken skulls. It's still too fresh, fresh enough that he vomits on the way to the their hotel room. So fresh that he can't hold himself up and castiel has to be the one to dos so.

Dean's so shaken that Cas has to help him into the shower, waiting outside while Dean really just sits under the shower head. Letting the hot water wash down his neck and back. Hoping it could wash the days events away. When Castiel pulls back the curtain there's still blood running off of Dean into the drain and soaking into his gray boxers.

Cas sighs, stripping himself down to his own black ones- Dean looking towards the brown liquid swirling past him on the bottom of the tub. Cas gets in behind him, gathering some soap onto his hands and lathering Dean's hair gently. The ex-cop closes his eyes to the ginger drag of the man's fingertips on his scalp, soothing circles into his hair with shampoo.

Dean almost makes a whine-like sound when Cas starts washing out the soap instead of rubbing, but he keeps himself quiet- mostly because he sees how much red is leaving his skin as it mixes with the soap forming crimson bubbles and suds.

"I'm going to wash a bit of your skin-" there's a click of a bottle, "but nothing too awkward. Just relax and take deep breaths, I'm here."

Dean leans into Cas' touch, his fingers gently rubbing away all of the dirt and blood from Dean's skin with small, circular motions. Dean rests himself against Cas, the hands on his shoulders soothing him as all the fatigue from the past couple of hours leaves him just like the blood does- the image of the dead man flowing with it into the drain. Dean closes his eyes, the feeling of warm skin against his own while Cas hums somthing, his hands undoing the tension Dean had pent up in his shoulders.

"Just relax, I've got you." Cas says gently, Dean starts to fall asleep, his breathing matching Castiel's in the shower, steam rolling about as the soap slicks down and clears his uneasiness and sink.

Dean nearly falls asleep right there, but Cas stops the water about ten minutes later- the loss of the warm spray causing Dean to jolt. The cold bathroom air pricks his skin, his fine hair sticking up from goosebumps as he slowly awakens.

Cas chuckles, "Nice to see you're up. Come on, let's go to bed."

Dean mumbles something unintelligible as he shuffles out of the tub. Cas just keeps giggling at him, but gives him a towel and leaves the bathroom. Dean supports some of his weight on the bathroom sink, the counter cold against his palms as he looks into the steamed mirror.

There's no sign of blood or bits of that man's brain lodging itself on him, in fact- there's no sign it happened at all. It's like Dean never shot that man dead on those bathroom tiles all those miles back- like he never pulled the trigger before he could slice open Cas' throat. His arms shake a little, but it's easier to handle than before. Because Cas is there, Cas needs him. What kind of protector is he if he can let that happen or mentally buckle under the weight of what he agreed to do?

He shucks off his wet boxers, noticing there's nothing else in the bathroom to wear. Fuck- seems like he's going to have to use his towel so he can go run and get some clothing. He steps out, holding the dampened white fluff to his hip as he exits the bathroom with steam flowing behind him.

"Dean!"

His eyes snap to attention, finding Cas' eyes glaring at him. He's got nothing on but a balled pair of boxers over his- well, you know. Dean coughs awkwardly, sure that his blush is mixing in with the flushed skin from the hot shower as he grabs his bag and hurries away.

Dean pulls a black t-shirt over his skin, the action feeling weird considering the bathroom is still the consistency of a cloud- making the fabric snag and leech onto him uncomfortably. Dean's a little glad that Cas got them a room with two beds, because last night was too close for comfort for him. He's wondering about how in the hell someone was able to snag him away while Dean was right fucking there. He bites his lower lip, noticing the Colt sitting on the counter.

This time, Dean walks out of the bathroom without Cas being practically naked and clothes on himself, settling down on the mattress closest to the door and closing his eyes. They only snap open when he feels it dip on the other side as Cas clambers onto the mattress with him. The ex-cop tilts his head, wondering why in the world Cas is doing something like this, but is only silenced when he sees the food in Castiel's hands.

"I got it while you finished changing. It was just across the street-"

"Don't do anything like that again Cas- I understand if you were trying to help or be nice, but I have to know where you're going or at, okay?"

His eyes falter a little, looking down at the bag of fast food as if it were a mistake, "I understand… I'm sorry Dean, I won't do it again…"

"Hey-" Cas' head snaps up, "don't feel bad, you weren't trying to do anything wrong. I just want to make sure you're okay and I'm there just in case anything went south… Why did you go anyways? I'm sure we could have walked over when I was done."

"I wanted to make up for earlier, you know? I saw how far you'd go for me and I guess… I guess I'm trying to fix that. I got scared for a while you weren't going to bounce back or something, but I'm the most thankful man on the world right now you did. This is sort of… a thank you- a small, unhealthy thank you."

Dean shrugs, "I appreciate it- but I've had to kill people before, Cas. It's part- well, it was part of my job before all this happened. Don't feel like you owe me anything either, because you don't."

Cas smiles, "You're a charming one, aren't you?"

"I try my best."

They start laughing, it ringing throughout the motel room. Its nice. It's as if the morning never happened, that Dean didn't commit murder, or that the whole Bambi fiasco was nothing more than Disney heartbreak. It's peaceful, quaint, as if the reason they were there was a road-trip and not running from the Morriston ring who was looming over them every second of the day and night. Soon after they finished the food- which Dean labeled as the best heart-attack-in-waiting ever on a bun- the fatigue settles in their bones as they slowly drift away into sleep.

There's two beds- but only one winds up being used.


End file.
